A/N: For those who were wondering, this is technically one-shot, it's just divided into two chapters. I don't think I'll be continuing after this because I like where it ends, but I'm open to any ideas. Thanks!

Bellamy had to hold back a laugh when he saw Clarke standing outside of his tent door, three blankets in hand. He could barely see her face over the fabric, but her eyes shone with defeat.

"Well, look who's here," he said smiling.

"Shut up," she muttered and would have dropped the top blanket if Bellamy hadn't reached out to take them from her.

"Thank you," he said smugly. She stood there glaring, hands wrapped around her forearms to keep the cold from biting into her skin.

He put on a sad face. "Aw princess, you look a little cold." She narrowed her eyes.

"Tell you what," he offered, shifting his weight over to another leg. " You can either take one of these—" he picked up the thinnest blanket and dangled it in from of her face—"or you can stay with me for the night and we can share all of the blankets."

She stared at him for a moment before grabbing the one that was in his outstretched hand and swiveling on her heal.

"Bye, princess," he called. If she looked back, she would have seen him throw a wave.

By the time she reached her tent, she was already starting to regret her decision. The wind had picked up tonight—faster than usual and with every gust, she felt her resolve weaken. Of course he knew how this would play out. God, he was so infuriating. But she was determined to hold out as long as possible.

"That's all you have?" Octavia questioned when she walked in the tent, lone blanket slung over her shoulder.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You know Bellamy has a lot of extra blankets, you could ask him for some."

"I know," she responded drily. She thought she'd be able to nab one from the drop-ship, but throughout the day, a lot people had come by asking for extras. If she'd have given it a second thought, maybe she wouldn't be in this predicament.

"Okay," Octavia said slowly. "Well I only have two, so I don't think that would really solve the problem."

"I'm fine," Clarke responded. She shut her eyes and prepared herself for a night of restless sleep.

Unlike usual, Clarke did manage to fall asleep fairly quickly, although she should have realized that it had more to do with the numbing cold than luck.

It was close to three in the morning when the racking shivers of her own body mixed with the harrowing terror of nightmares awakened her.

Everything stung—her nose, her mouth, her hands, her toes. She could barely move from her tucked position on the floor. In what seemed like insurmountable effort, she lifted her head and pushed herself from the ground and into a sitting position.

Octavia was nowhere to be seen and Clarke remembered hearing her say something about Lincoln right before she drifted off to sleep. Her choices were limited.

Clenching and unclenching her fists in attempt to restore movement and warmth into her muscles, she stood, wobbled, and took a shaky step forward. From a doctor's perspective, her condition not good. Her skin was a darker color—not black, thankfully, or she would have been subjected to frostbite—but she was close. She was cold.

Exiting the tent, Clarke began taking staggered steps toward his tent, pulling her tongue to the back of her throat to keep her teeth from cutting into the fragile skin.

She collapsed only once—at the mid-way point—and it took her nearly three minutes to regain a standing position. Her eyes squeezed shut to keep the wind from blowing ice into her face. She could barely see, but she'd taken the trek so many times that she didn't need a map or sense of direction to know where she was going. It was instinct.

After ten minutes of pushing through the wind and snow, she reached his tent; a beacon of relief in the dismal dark.

She fumbled with the flap, missing the fabric twice before grabbing it with numbed fingers and pulling it back. The inside of his abode was pitch black, but she knew where his pallet was—in the far right corner next to the make-shift metal chair.

As soon as her foot hit the tent floor, she fell to the ground. She lay there for a minute, trying to focus through her cobwebbed thoughts, and then began crawling towards the warmth.

"B-B-ell" she tried to say, but it came out in a pitiful whisper. She couldn't feel her mouth. Finally pulling herself next to him, she poked him weakly in the shoulder.

"B-Bellamy," she managed to call out this time, and she felt something shift beneath her hand. "Clarke?" a muffled voice met her call.

She didn't respond, instead pulling back the six layers of blankets he had piled on top of one another and climbing in next to him. She wracked the bed with her shakes.

"About time," he said, but Clarke wasn't in the mood for jokes. She reached out a frozen hand and lay it on his chest, reveling in the warmth it provided.

Bellamy jumped. "Jesus, you're freezing," he muttered through the darkness. Flipping on his stomach, he fumbled for his flashlight, flipping the switch and aiming the glow down at her face.

"Oh my god."

Her lips were a pale blue color, quivering in the blinding light. Her cheeks looked glazed over—as if a layer of frost covered her skin, while her eyes remained tightly shut, blocking out the artificial light as he gazed down at her appearance.

In less than a second, he was burying her in his arms, stroking her hair and running his hand up and down her arm in attempt to pass heat into her shaking form.

"Clarke, I didn't mean...I should have...god that was stupid, of course you'd be stubborn enough to stick it out." He should have realized that she would wait until the last minute to admit defeat. She was Clarke. Cupping her fisted fingers in his hands, he brought his mouth down to the opening in his palms and blew hot air over her skin.

"Hmmmm," she hummed in appreciation. He breathed again.

"I h-h-h-" she tried to get the words out, but her mouth seemed to be numbed and frozen. She couldn't speak.

"What?" he asked, trying to make out her words.

"I h-ha—" she tried again, but the words sputtered and broke.

Her eyes were open now, and through the glow of the flashlight he'd left beside the bed, he could make out what looked like frustration in her expression—anger at herself for admitting that she needed help, anger at him for putting her in that position, anger at the weather for being so harsh. She was scared too— Bellamy recognized that faded look in her eyes as well; the lingering effects of a nightmare seeping its way into the forefront of the mind. She looked so vulnerable, so weak, and that feeling of guilt he'd felt earlier when he'd watched her walking to the drop-ship was back again. Only this time he knew exactly what it was. This time he wasn't going to ignore it.

And then his lips were on hers, soft and solid and warm, willing her back to reality and away from the muddling clog of hypothermia. She responded better than either of them expected, moving her mouth against his once she felt the tingling sensation of warmth sweep across her skin and down the length of her spine. The next shiver that shook her body wasn't from the cold.

They stayed like that for a moment, in each others embrace, and then she broke away quietly, tucking the top of her head under his chin. Bellamy twirled a strand of her hair around his fingers.

"What were you going to say?" he asked after a moment, hoping that now she'd be able to speak. An unintelligible mumble came from the collar of his shirt.

"What?" he asked, pulling away so he could hear her more clearly.

"That I hate you," she replied, looking up at him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Clarke was surprised to see an actual expression of guilt pass over his face.

"But I take it back," she said quickly.

He didn't look entirely convinced. "I'm sorry," he said and Clarke could tell he was being sincere.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm the one stupid enough to fall for it."

"I shouldn't have given you an option in the first place."

"I knew what would happen."

"So did I."

She sighed. "Thank for keeping me warm."

Bellamy shifted her weight so she was pressed even closer to his chest. "Anytime."

Both of them had just about drifted asleep, when Bellamy's voice weaved its way through the darkened silence.

"Wanna build a snowman tomorrow?" Clarke smiled into his shirt. "Absolutely."